Coyote, Maybe
by fibromyalgiaforbreakfast
Summary: Samuel Colt faces a threat, when his friend Hank Smith is found dead.


The saloon doors swung open. A tall man in a long dark duster coat stumbled out into the warm night air. A bottle of whisky in his hand, he began to slowly wander towards his cabin. The dry bushes at the side of the dirt road began to shake and rustle, and the man stopped. He turned his head gingerly.

After a second's pause, the man groaned, and continued walking. He took a long swig from the whisky bottle, and then stopped again. The rustling began again.

"Who's 'ere?" The man mumbled. There was no reply. "Ugh, it's you. G'way, I'm not looking' fer trouble."

A large shadowy figure emerged from the bushes, and crouched, like a jackal preparing to pounce on his prey. The figure jumped forwards across the road. Within seconds the road was covered, in blood, and cheap whiskey.

Samuel jerked awoke from his restless sleep. His dreams had persisted for weeks. since that day in March when that big guy with the magic brick thingamajig showed up. He kept seeing Elias, that phoenix monster, trying to kill him. Samuel reached across his bedside table to get his whiskey.

He lifted the bottle to take a swig, but there was none left. That meant only one thing. Samuel Colt would have to journey into town, and speak to people. _Ugh, people, _Samuel thought, _if only they'd let me be alone._

Samuel pulled his coat from over the chair and drew his revolver from the desk. He slid his revolver into its holster on his belt, and placed his hat onto his head, and over his eyes.

After all the years of drinking, the light of Sunrise, Wyoming would still make his head buzz in pain. Colt began his trek into town, rubbing his eyes as he walks.

The Sunrise town square was abuzz with worrying, and panic. Sheriff Williams stood over the tall man's body, or what was left of it. The man's shoulder and left leg was all that was there. A few scraps of clothing and an empty whiskey bottle lay in the mess.

Colt broke his way through the crowd, and lifted his hat in amazement of the shredded body that was before him. Sheriff Williams turned to greet Samuel.

When Samuel looked over, he noticed something strange, Williams had appeared to have cut himself shaving, over his obviously untended stubble.

"Sheriff." Samuel said passively, before crouching to further observe the mangled corpse on the dirt.

"Mr Colt." Williams said gruffly. "We think that it's Hank. But we're not sure. No-one's seen him since last night, and this is his route home."

Hank. Mr Henry 'Hank' Smith was Sunrise's town drunk, and Samuel's good friend. It was difficult to think of Hank being dead, but it couldn't have been anyone else.

"Any idea what done it?" Samuel queried, trying to remain unemotional in front of the townsfolk.

" From the looks of things, I'd say a wild animal." Williams replied " Coyote, maybe. Or a wild dog."

An animal probably would've taken Hank's leg back to it's family, or to keep for later. But, Samuel didn't say anything. He already knew what had killed Hank. Or, technically, who.

Samuel had heard of them before, and he had a section of his journal covering the lore. Rougarous. Horrible things. They would start as people, then develop an insatiable hunger, which would turn to cannibalism. Fortunately, he knew how to kill them, and he had a plan.

Sheriff Williams arrived outside Samuel's cabin in the early evening. Samuel was sitting outside, on an old rocking chair, under the shade of the cabin's extended roof. Williams dismounted his horse, and wandered towards Colt.

"Stop." Samuel said bluntly. "I know what you are, Williams."

The sheriff's eyes suddenly burned with anger and fear, but he stopped where he was.

"You should be thanking me, Colt." Williams practically spat the words at Samuel. "This town is a dump, I've only been eatin' the bad ones. The ones that cause trouble."

"Doesn't matter, Rougarou." Samuel said with hatred. " You _ate_ Hank. He was a drunk, but he was a good man."

Samuel drew a book of matches from his pocket.

"I hope you rot in hell, you cannibal son of a bitch." Samuel shouted as he threw a lit match onto the floor before Williams.

The match ignited a thin layer of lantern oil on the ground around the rougarou, and it burned quickly into ash.

Samuel arose from his chair, and picked the shovel from behind his chair.

"Well," Samuel sighed, "That's one for the books."

Samuel finished burying the ashes of the rougarou under a pile of sand, and watched as the sun set, over Sunrise Wyoming.


End file.
